


Breath of Stone

by Whedonista93



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Arkenstone - Freeform, F/M, Fix-It, Istari - Freeform, Meddling Valar, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Rule 63, Temporary Character Death, The Valar, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: “Why did you bring us back?”“Would you believe me if I told you it was because the Valar angered me?”





	Breath of Stone

“You cannot change what you have already Seen.”

“So you insist on reminding me at every turn. But this is not right! This is not how this quest is meant to end!”

“Then fix it.”

“But I cannot change what I have Seen, and I have Seen them dying and _that_ is what is wrong! For I have _also_ Seen so much life they have not yet lived.”

“Where there is a will, there is a way, is there not? And you, Istari, have more reason for that will than most, do you not?”

Vitalya leaves the Valar using all of her self control not to curse them under her breath. Why give her the gift of Sight, why show her such a happy future, her _own_ happy future, if she can do nothing to fix the wrongs she Sees that will destroy it before it comes to be?

*****

Vitalya lurks at the back of the chamber, angry tears in her eyes. The line of Durin are laid out on dark stone, dressed in finery, swords upon their breasts and the king’s jewel shining above the elder’s hands. The heart of the mountain! Of course! She brushes the tears aside and hurries toward the dias.

“Do not grow used to that crown, Dain Ironfoot,” she warns as she passes.

“Beg yer pardon, lass?”

Vitalya laughs. “Hardly a lass.”

Gandalf visibly startles before offering a slight bow as she approaches.“What do we owe the honor?”

“Gandalf!” Dain bellows. “Ye know this interloper?”

“She is Istari, a wizard, my lord Dain,” Gandalf answers readily.

“Vitalya,” she offers.

“You never said anything about female wizards,” Bella interjects curiously.

Gandalf smiles softly. “She is one of a kind, and not quite like the rest of us.”

“To what _do_ we owe the honor?” Dain repeats Gandalf’s question, though lacking all the respect Gandalf had shown.

She manages to keep a sneer off her face, but projects her voice as she answers Dain. “I am here to right a wrong, Lord Dain,” she mounts the dais and the dwarves of Thorin’s Company step out of her way on instinct. She rests her hand over the Arkenstone on Thorin’s chest. She continues to project her voice, “for the heart of the mountain is not a stone. The heart of the mountain is its people. I’ve no doubt that you are a fine lord, Dain, but the true king shall reign.”

She raises both hands and the Arkenstone rises into the air. She mutters in a language unknown to all present save Gandalf, and even he blanches a bit at the blatant power she is invoking. The stone splits into three and the pieces glow impossibly brighter. Her voice grows in strength. The three stones hover over the heirs of Durin before lowering and all but melting into their chests. All three dwarves sit up abruptly, swords clattering to the ground as they gasp for air and claw at their chests before collapsing back on their funeral beds with heaving breaths. Vitalya collapses. Gandalf hurries to her side.

“Their wounds still need to be tended,” she manages to tell him before she passes out.

***

Vitalya wakes in a room with a glittering ceiling. She sits up slowly and finds herself in what she assumes are the dwarves’ healing chambers. Thorin is in the bed to her right and his nephews rest in beds across from her. She can hear a ruckus in the hall, but only members of the Company are in the room. She looks to her left and sees Bifur and Dwalin’s scowls holding Dain - and many others - at bay. The rest of the Company is strewn about the room. The hobbit is fluttering around Thorin’s bed and Gandalf is making a circle between all four beds.

The other wizard halts when he sees her awake. “My lady. Are you well?”

She nods slowly. “Well enough. A bite to eat would not go amiss. Build my strength up a bit and I can assist you in healing.”

Bombur stands from his seat. “I’ll see to it, m’lady.”

She nods. “My thanks.”

Gandalf shakes his head. “You just brought three back from the dead. How you have anything left at all…”

She shrugs and stands slowly to stretch. “As you said, I am one of a kind.”

When Bombur returns, Vitalya spots a copper-haired elf hovering in the shadows. “You there, elf!” The elf startles and steps forward. “Come lend a hand?”

Relief seeps through the woman’s posture and she rushes into the room with no further prompting. Dwalin shoves back a few enterprising dwarves that try to edge in with her.

“Honestly,” Vitalya groans, “why not just close the doors?”

“Well and truly stuck, my lady,” the white-haired dwarf, Balin, she believes, informs her.

“Is that all?” Vitalya lays a hand on the door and closes her eyes. A moment later is swings closed. She smiles. “Much better. Someone bar that.”

Dwalin obliges immediately, and then leans his back against it for good measure.

“What’s your name, elf?” Vitalya asks as she makes quick work of the stew and bread Bombur brought her.

The elf tears her gaze from the youngest of Durin’s descendants. “I am called Turiel, my lady.”

“See to the dark-haired prince,” she nods to Kili, “if you would? I’ll see to the fair-haired one. Mithrandir and the hobbit lass seem to have the king well in hand, and if I heard tell correctly, you were witness to most of his injuries, so you know precisely what you’re dealing with.”

Tauriel bows slightly. “My lady.”

Vitalya swigs down the rest of her ale before she turns to the elder dwarven prince, only to find his grey eyes already focused on her. She offers a smile. “Fili, isn’t it?”

“Aye, m’lady,” he rasps.

“I am Vitalya,” she carefully helps him sit up enough to drink a bit of water, “and you may call me any variation or abbreviation of it you wish.”

He manages a slight grin before his expression grows serious once more. “How bad is it?”

They both wince as she lifts his blanket to poke about his wound. “I’ll not lie to you, master dwarf, you were pierced through with a Morgul blade. Even with magic, healing will be slow.”

“But it is assured?”

She smiles at that. “Aye. I did not bring you back only to let you die again.”

“Why did you?”

Her smile grows rueful. “Would you believe me if I told you it was because the Valar angered me?”

He laughs, then winces when the motion pulls at his chest. “Aye, I just might.”

If Vitalya had to guess, she’d say this is likely the quietest  the Company has ever been, all straining to hear her.

“I brought you back because I am selfish and your futures intertwine with my own. Death was not meant to be the end of this part of your journey,” she tells him softly, “and the Valar did not tell me I was wrong.”

“You actually speak to the Valar?” Fili asks incredulously.

“When the occasion warrants,” she confirms, cleaning his wound as gently as she can. “As Gandalf likely told you… I am not like other wizards. My magic is not confined by relics and ancient languages, though both can strengthen it. Most significantly, though, the Valar granted me the gift of Sight. Unfortunately, I cannot change that which I See.”

“You Saw us die,” Fili infers.

“I Saw you die,” she agrees, “but I knew it was not the proper ending, for I have Seen so much more I know you have not yet lived, and though I cannot change things I See, what I See inevitably comes to pass. The Valar were maddeningly cryptic on how to fix such a blunder in fate. My magic is strong, but I cannot create life where there is none. I did not think of the solution until I laid eyes on the Arkenstone. I am sorry you had to lose that in all this, though.”

“Sorry?!” Thorin’s voice carries across the room, “No, my lady. It was well worth the sacrifice, to see both my nephews breathing once more. You have nothing but our most sincere thanks.”

Two weeks later, that sincere thanks is replaced by grumblings.

“How much longer must we be forced to remain abed?” Thorin demands.

“Until I deem otherwise,” Vitalya informs him primly.

While none of the dwarves have complaints toward their nursemaids, they all seem to agree on one thing.

“Do we really have to stay in the healers wing?” Kili groans into his pillow.

“It’s not as if any of you are fussing over anyone else,” Fili agrees, “Couldn’t you see to us in private rooms?”

Vitalya raises an eyebrow at him. “Bella wears Thorin’s betrothal braids in her hair. Kili is obviously besotted with the elf. And you, Fili, flush rather prettily every time I catch you looking at me when you think I’m not paying attention. However, you are all technically single and you are _the_ royals of this kingdom. Despite the fact that you may not care what anyone thinks of you, the public’s perception _does_ matter, and three technically single royals cannot be ensconced alone in their room with single ladies, acting as nursemaids or not.”

“While I see your point, my lady,” Thorin grinds out, “the royal private chambers are just that - private rooms in a private wing. It’s not as though we have servants to be milling about. We have guards that know their places. We will be undisturbed.”

“You all still require constant supervision,” Vitalya protests.

“We’ll _all_ be more comfortable in private rooms,” Kili wheedles.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Vitalya mutters under her breath. Louder, she answers, “Very well, but it’s on your heads.”

***

“You can read Khuzdul?” Fili quirks an eyebrow.

Vitalya rolls her eyes. “Dwarves are a secretive lot, my prince, but when you are as old as I am, you pick up on a few secrets.”

Fili hums noncommittally in response.

Vitalya huffs in frustration and shoves her hair out of her face for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“I could braid it for you,” Fili offers.

Vitalya looks up sharply and sees the hesitant hope in his eyes beyond the carefully crafted facade of casualness. She nods once, and he sits up carefully while she settles herself on the floor with her back to the bed.

She looks into the mirror on the far side of the room when he’s done and ducks her head to hide her smile before she returns to her seat next to his bed. “Something you’d like to ask me, Fili?”

He forces his gaze up to her eyes from where he was intently studying his lap. “Those secrets you know… how much do you know about dwarves courting rituals?”

She shrugs. “Not much,” she brushes a hand over her hair, “I recognize the braids. I know it involves gifts. And I know that dwarves truly love but once in a lifetime.”

Fili grins wryly. “So you know enough to know the sincerity with which I propose this to you.”

“I do,” Vitalya nods and reaches for his hand, “but you have known me barely a month. Are you quite certain?”

Fili laughs. “Aye, but is not a month time enough when it has been spent in constant presence? And besides… Talya, I will grow old and die. Slower than some races, quicker than others. I know it is selfish of me to even ask you to go through that, but I would have every moment with you that I can. I hope you might consider sparing one of your countless lifetimes allowing a dwarf to attempt to make it a happy one.”

Vitalya laughs a little wetly. “Fili, I would not even have allowed you to braid my hair if my answer was no.”

***

Fili’s wounds are healed, but he still aches and wakes screaming at times, and every time his Talya is at his side, one hand reaching for his and the other resting over the scar on his chest, magic swirling about her palm. He finds he sleeps best after these episodes, despite the nightmares. All the royals are up and about and gleefully churning the gossip mill. There are running bets on who will first address the Oliphant in the room and Vitalya is forbidden from participating in any of them.

It is Dain who breaks the silence, during the last Council he will be present for before his return to the Iron Hills. “If no one else is brave enough, I'll say it! It is not fitting for every royal of Erebor to reject a dwarven consort! Will none of our future heirs be of pure blood?”

“No,” Vitalya’s eyes go a little cloudy and glossy in a way that Fili has learned to recognize means she’s seeing, “they will not. They will all have a bit of hobbit blood or elf blood or whatever it is my blood is. But they will all serve Erebor well. Any action to try and prevent any of them from coming to  be or from ruling when their time comes will greatly displease the Valar.”

Dain leaves in an almighty fury not much later.

Thorin looks to Vitalya. “Do I need to worry about a coup?”

Vitalya laughs. “Hardly. Too many saw you lot brought back by the stone. None will stand against such an obvious blessing of the Valar.”

***

“Stay,” Fili asks her that night.

“I always do, don't I?” she smiles fondly at him.

“No,” he swallows nervously, “I mean lay with me. To sleep only! I… I do not rest well without your touch.”

Vitalya knows the truth behind his quiet confession and climbs under the covers to curl into his side. She rests her head on his shoulder and a hand over the scar on his bare chest. “It still causes you nightmares.”

“Aye,” he answers quietly. They hold each other in comfortable silence for a long while before Fili speaks again. “We’ll have children?”

She smiles against his chest. “Seven. Four boys and three girls. Our eldest a daughter... She's going to be so lovely, Fili. And she shall make the finest dwarven queen Middle Earth has ever known. Thorin and Bella will have two daughters and a son. Kili and Tauriel will have twins, a boy and a girl. Each and every one of them will leave their mark upon this world.”

***

Several weeks later, they’re awoken by a screeched, “Fili! You get up and explain yourself this instant!”

Vitalya shoots into a sitting position, magic already sparking at her fingers as Fili manages to roll out of the bed and ont to the floor. She wills the magic away when she sees a red faced dwarf woman who looks just like Kili… with more of a beard.

Fili manages to get to his feet. “Mum?”

Dis scowls at her eldest and point to Vitalya.

Fili blushes. “Er, thi-”

“Stop,” Dis cuts him off, “I raised my sons better than to share a bed with a woman to who they are not wed and I see only betrothal braids in this woman’s hair. A mother likes to think well of her sons, I don’t think I want to hear what you have to say right now.”

Vitalya bites down a smirk and tosses a shirt at Fili, silently grateful he was already wearing pants.

His blush spreads down his chest before he manages to shrug it on.

Dis heaves a sigh, the very picture of a long suffering mother. “Where’s your brother and uncle then?”

Fili’s jaw drops. “Really? Just dumb luck that you happened to stumble into my room first?”

Dis shrugs. “Aye.”

Vitalya, quite certain Kili and Tauriel, at least, and likely Bella and Thorin as well, will be in a far less innocent state of undress, flies out of the bed and shrugs a robe over her nightgown as she all but sprints toward the door. “I’ll fetch him!”

“See if you can find someone to fetch us breakfast while you’re at it, lass!” Dis calls after her.

Vitalya waves in acknowledgement then all but sprints down to the next door and only knocks as she’s pushing it open. Sure enough, Tauriel is laid out on her stomach, flaming hair spread across the pillow, and Kili, shirtless, is propped up on one elbow idly tracing patterns on her bare back. He makes an undignified squawk and yanks the blankets up to their chins when she bursts in.

“Clothes. Before your mother decides to follow me down the hall,” Vitalya warns.

Kili blanches. “Mum?”

“Yes!” Vitalya rolls her eyes. “It was just bad luck she happened upon our room first,” she quirks an eyebrow at the pair in the bed, “or perhaps good luck. We were both clothed at least.”

Kili groans and buries his face in a pillow.

Vitalya laughs. “Get up, get dressed, go fetch breakfast enough for seven and bring it Fili’s room, prepared to face your mother. Quickly, now!”

She turns on her heel and makes her way just as quickly to the end of the hall and allows an extra few seconds between knocking and entering than she did at Kili’s door. Both bed partners are mostly clothed, dwarves seem to have an aversion to sleeping with shirts on, she’s noticed, but in no less intimate a position. Thorin is wrapped around Bella, his arms tight around her shoulders with her head tucked into the hollow of his throat. Thorin glares at Vitalya over the hobbit’s head.

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Your sister is here.”

Thorin shoots up out of bed, heedless of Bella’s indignant protests, immediately scrounging for a shirt. “What? When? Where? How?”

Vitalya rolls her eyes. “Fili and I were woken rather unpleasantly just five minutes ago. Breakfast in our rooms as soon as everyone is decent. And I don’t know, Thorin, but I would assume she came with one of the countless companies that has been arriving daily!”

Thorin groans and drops his head back before peering up at her again. “You do know what’s going to happen now that she’s here, do you not?”

She smirks. “Of course I do. I just didn’t know precisely when she was going to show up. Are we going to warn the others?”

Thorin shrugs and mumbles something unintelligible.

She hurries back to her - Fili’s - room and scurries directly into the bathroom, and dresses as quickly as she can. She forgoes seeking out her boots and pads barefoot out to the sitting area to find Fili and Dis in the middle of an awkward staring contest. She plants herself at Fili’s feet and hands him a comb as she unbinds her hair. He smiles at her fondly before setting about redoing her braids, and she sees something in Dis’ expression soften. Kili and Tauriel, both laden with trays of food, enter a few minutes later, Bella and Thorin close behind. Kili sets his trays down as fast as he can and all but barrels into his mother’s embrace. When they separate, Thorin folds her into a hug. Once everyone is settled, a quiet tension falls.

Dis breaks it. “Right… so who’s going to explain the whole dying but not dead bit?”

Thorin answers gravely. “We… we were well and truly gone, sister. We stood in the halls of Mahal, but he would not grant us entry,” he smirks slightly, “for he told us it would earn him the ire of his favorite Istari.”

Vitalya hadn’t heard that part before, and she can’t help but snort a laugh. “He always has been the most sensible among the Valar.”

“Your ire is nothing to scoff at, my lady,” Thorin tells her.

She shrugs. “I have no power over the Valar.”

“But you have power over their world.”

“Fair enough.”

“ _You_ ,” De breathes, “you are why my family is alive?”

“To an extent,” Vitalya allows, “I am Vitalya of the Istari. And the Valar were not done with the line of Durin.”

Dis stands slowly and bends to kiss her brow. “Thank you.”

Vitalya blushes and shrugs. “It was not entirely unselfish. My own future is inexorably twined with that of Erebor and its royals. And without the line of Durin, Erebor does not stand long.”

Dis stares at her curiously.

“She’s a Seer, mum,” Fili explains as he rests his hands on Vitalya’s shoulders.

“And your One,” Dis eyes them shrewdly.

“Aye,” Fili agrees readily.

Dis simply nods and sits up straight. “Who’re the others, then?”

“Bella Baggins, of the Shire,” Thorin drops his arm around the hobbit’s shoulders and tucks her into his side, “savior of Erebor, and my betrothed.”

Dis reaches out to grasp Bella’s hands in her own. “If even half the tales I have heard of you are true, halfling, the line of Durin is forever in your debt as well.”

Finally, Dis turns toward Kili and Tauriel, both sitting with their backs to the fire, leaning against each other’s sides. Kili is grasping the elf’s hand with a defiant glint in his eye. To anyone who knows him - in other words, everyone in the room - he is clearly terrified. Despite that, he lifts his chin and he holds his mother’s gaze. Dis drops her chin to her chest and her shoulders shake, and it’s nearly a full minute, when she gasps for air, before anyone realizes she’s laughing and not crying.

“Mum?” Kili asks hesitantly.

Dis plops back down on the couch and tries to catch her breath. “Oh, you may look like me, but you are your father’s son, lad.”

Kili just looks confused.

“Your father fell in love with your mother the moment he laid eyes on her,” Thorin explains, “and would not be dissuaded from that, no matter who told him it would never work. And you, nephew, did the same.”

“Aye,” Dis smiles softly, “and I would not have you any other way. That being said-”

Vitalya and Thorin, both knowing what’s coming, groan in tandem.

“When are the weddings?”


End file.
